Lazy Sunday
by springburn
Summary: Malcolm and Sam are having a day together, just the two of them... Just a Drabble really, no story as such, a character study. Exploring their relationship...


Malcolm Sam Fic

LAZY SUNDAY.

It was deathly quiet.  
The clock on the bedside table said 7.30...7.30?  
Sam was lying on her back.  
The warm body beside her was yet to stir.  
Awake, but drowsy, she was aware of his gentle breathing.  
The tickle of his hair against her face.  
On his side, as close to her as he could physically be, and not actually be on top of her!  
One leg thrown across hers. His arm over her chest, at breast height.  
He was semi hard...he often was at this time of day!  
Staring up at the ceiling she lay musing on when she and her husband first got together.  
Recalling his face, the evening he'd rescued her from the clutches of Russell Brewer, how sincere and protective he'd been.  
She'd been in love with him before that, of course.  
Probably always had been in love with him, from the day he hired her.  
She smiled to herself at the memory.  
Malcolm stirred slightly, a hand to his nose, rubbing, a sigh, as he tried to move closer still, slumbering on.  
The lost look he'd given her, as he left Number 10, on the day he'd been forced to resign.  
Her heart ached for him then.  
So much.  
He'd been through so much. They both had.  
An image of the last day of the Goolding Enquiry, he'd looked so pale, so defeated. When she'd fought her way to his side, through the scrum of press.  
The disbelief in his expression, as he'd looked down at their joined hands.

oOo

She drifted back to sleep.  
Dreamless.  
The silence was uncanny.  
Odd.  
The children were at her brother and sister in law's.  
Paul and Tina had quit London for 'The Good Life.' Bought a small holding.  
Jamie, Robbie and Grace loved it.  
Goats, chickens, vegetables out of the garden. A pony.  
Child heaven.  
For a Glaswegian dock worker's son, Malcolm had also embraced the whole, 'out of town' thing.  
He loved going there.  
Paul Cassidy could not be more polar opposite to Malcolm Tucker, but the two men liked each other. A great deal. They were friends.  
Five years ago, Malcolm wouldn't even be lying here with her.  
His wired body clock would have him up and at 'em before 5am.  
Sam shifted slightly, so she could look closely at this man.  
This complicated, loving, insecure and vulnerable man, who was hers.  
Body and soul. He belonged to her.  
Those would be his words, not her own.  
A well spring of contradictions...he could be brash, argumentative, ready to lash out when cornered, yet soft and pliant, tender and docile.  
How she loved him.  
Her finger tips brushed his face, relaxed and blissful in repose.  
Stupid idiot.  
How had he even reached the conclusion she was having an affair?  
She shuddered at the thought.  
Worse even than that, he hadn't felt he could say anything...just tried to continue...while, each day, dying a little more inside.  
Five years...and three children, and he was still not convinced, not ready to believe he could be enough for her, that no one would ever be totally his, that he wasn't good enough alone, that she'd need more eventually, and he'd lose her.  
Part of her wanted to weep at that, bless his dear dear heart.  
A tear sprang up, but she willed it away, leaned forward and brushed his lips with her own.  
His eyes opened.  
Bleary.  
"Hmmm?"  
"Morning, sleepy head."  
"Time is it?"  
"Almost eight."  
He rolled onto his back, stretched languidly and gave an expansive yawn.  
"It's too fucking quiet." He growled.  
Sam laughed,  
"Weird isn't it?"  
A shaft of sunlight penetrated the gap in the curtains.  
"What shall we do today?"  
"Stay in bed and have copious amounts of sex!"  
She giggled as he nuzzled her, hands wandering, rock hard now.  
Affirmation of his love for his wife in a physical sense was life blood for Malcolm Tucker.  
Making love to her, was the embodiment of that.  
He was a demonstrative man, and sex was his way of proving his love as much as anything else.  
He adored her, worshipped her, and he had a desperate need to show it.  
Sam knew this, of course.  
She understood him, one of the few who did.  
Although she'd seriously fucked up with the secret literary award thing.  
Never in a million years could she have foreseen that.  
It genuinely shocked her. But she'd learned from her mistake, and it would never be repeated.  
It reduced him to a whimpering wreck. Painful to witness.  
She had the power to bring him to his knees, break him. It frightened her.  
It was power she didn't want. Would never wield.  
He must never be in doubt again. She would make sure of it.  
Kisses more insistent, his touch, cock throbbing, moving between her thighs.  
"Want you..." He murmured.  
Opening her legs wide, letting him claim her, so sensual, so delicious.  
Feeling the familiar fire building in her core as he moved within her, arching herself, to take him ever deeper.  
She was coming, she never could hold off, even if she wanted to, because it was just so intense, even after five years, it was little different from the first time.  
What he did to her, how he made her feel, it was impossible to put into words.  
Pulsing now, the vein in his temple prominent, his neck taut, flushed.  
God, she adored that neck! So kissable!  
He eased down, resting against her, breathing hard, sated.  
Then lazy sloppy kisses, as they both cooled, and he rolled away.

oOo

She must have dozed again. In that haze of post coital bliss.  
Something woke her.  
Turning over, a towelling robed vision with a tea tray greeted her.  
"Breakfast in bed! Oh, Malcolm, you are wracking up the brownie points here...seriously!"  
Fresh coffee and croissants.  
"Come on...sit up, bed head! You need sustenance if I'm going to fuck you again later!"  
Pulling the duvet up to her breasts, and wrapping it round her, she sat cross legged, he beside her...knees touching...crumbs everywhere, but who cares!

He flicked idly through the Sunday Paper, discarding the supplements and the Sport section. Straight to the economic, finance and political.  
Perusing, tutting occasionally.  
Leaning back, running his hand through his grey curls, mussing them most attractively.  
Sam watched him, head to one side, a slight smile played on her lips.  
He had pastry on his chin, and down his chest, where the dressing gown gaped open.  
He looked up, aware of her gaze.  
"What?"  
Looked down at himself, tutted again.  
She reached forwards, her thumb on his chin, then across his mouth.  
"You're beautiful, you know that? Even covered in crumbs."  
He grabbed her then, lips crushing against her own, hungrily.  
A moan against her mouth as he pushed her back against the pillows...

oOo

"Malcolm?"  
"Mmmm?"  
"It's nearly lunchtime. I'm wet and sticky, I need a shower...you need a shower...and I'm starving!"  
Releasing her from the embrace of their post breakfast second love making session, he rolled onto his side.  
"Okay. Let's get dressed. Go down to the river, have some lunch."  
"Sounds good."  
Sweeping his legs over the edge of the bed, he sat up. Sam knelt behind, put her arms around him, leaning against his back, feeling the knobs of his bony spine against her chest.  
He closed both his hands over her arms.  
Yawned again.  
"Right! Come on...up!" He said, freeing himself.  
She watched appreciatively as his pert little arse disappeared into the bathroom.  
He saw her looking and grinned to himself.  
He knew her mind.  
Waiting for the sound of running water and splashing, she left the bed, wandered in, and stepped into the shower behind him.  
He was covered in foam, vigorously soaping his hair with both hands.  
Cock standing to attention.  
She slid her hands around him, stroking him.  
"Hmmmmmm! What took you so long?"  
She laughed,  
"You're mighty sure of yourself, aren't you Mister?"  
His hands smoothed over the mounds of her breasts, making her whimper, he turned her to face the wall. Pressed himself against her.  
"You want this?" He growled.  
"You know I do!"

oOo

They wandered along the river bank.  
Hands linked.  
Just strolling.  
"I miss the kids." He remarked, breaking the reverie.  
"Me too, but it's nice to have you all to myself, once in a while."  
"Same here. I love you Sam. We're good...aren't we? You and me."  
"We ARE good Malc. I love you too. You do know that don't you? That I love you, only you?  
There's nothing else I want. Would look for. You do know that now, don't you?"  
He frowned, his forehead puckering, above those expressive brows.  
He swallowed, she watched his Adam's apple bob in his throat, before he replied, his voice thick, hesitant.  
"Trying! I'm so fucking needy aren't I? I'm sorry. I do try not to be."  
She pulled him to a halt. Turning him to face her.  
"Malcolm! You're not needy! You're a loving husband and father. That's not being needy, that's being in love."  
"I try to be what my own Dad wasn't. Could never be. He was a bastard, Sam. My mother was terrified of him, so were me and Nance most of the time. If I thought you, or my children were afraid of me..."  
"Malcolm...stop it...you are not your father! You are not. We all love you. We need you. We could never be afraid of you."  
She could see he was becoming emotional.  
Reassurance, he needed constant reassurance.  
"Don't get upset." She pulled him close. "You are a wonderful man. You belong to us. No one ever said that to your father. He was a sick and lonely man, who died practically unmourned. That is not going to happen to you."  
"I hated him Sam. I was glad when the cancer took him."  
"I know Malcolm. I know. And it's very sad. But you are loved. Needed. Wanted. Relied upon. We wouldn't be without you. Do you understand?"  
He nodded. Unable to voice a reply.  
She knew what it cost him to open up to her like this. Even after five years.  
They walked a little further. Until he spied a pub.  
"Think I need a drink!"  
They found a picnic table, where they could watch the rowers on the water, the ducks dabbling and scrabbling for bread, thrown by the customers.  
Sitting side by side with a glass of wine, food ordered.  
Enjoyed the sunshine.  
Sam's arm linked through his.  
"I'm really happy Sam!" He said suddenly.  
She turned to look at him, steely blue eyes gazing into the middle distance, unfocused.  
She reached up, kissed him, touched his cheek.  
"I am too." She replied. "You make me happy."

oOo

It was late afternoon before they reached home.  
Curled together on the couch, with the Sunday crossword.  
Malcolm was too clever for it to take long to finish, and the clues he didn't know, Sam did.  
The lunchtime wine got the better of them.  
Snuggled up among the cushions, they dozed.  
Sam bought in tea and biscuits to share, they listened to music on the Sonos, until evening.  
Takeaway pizza...not very healthy, but it was at treat...  
"No cooking today!" Malcolm insisted.  
Feet up.  
TV on...Miss Marple. A Sunday staple.  
Sam sighed contentedly.  
"What a lovely day it's been, I feel so lazy!"  
"Haven't spent a day like this for ages. It's been great Sam, really great."  
She tucked her head under his arm, against his shoulder.  
He kissed the top of her head, relishing the smell of her hair.  
"Sod this, let's go to bed. Want some cocoa?"  
"Oooo, yes...I love bedtime cocoa...are you making it?"  
"Course!"

Spooned together, Sam resting in the curve of his body, his arm securely around her middle.  
Warm and comfortable.  
"Sam?"  
"Mmmm?"  
He pressed himself against her backside.  
"Can I make love to you?"  
"Again? God, Malcolm what's made you so horny today?"  
"It's your fault, you're so gorgeous, I just want you all the time."  
"No one has ever made me feel like you do Malc. You know I can't say no."  
"Sam?"  
"What is it?"  
"Thank you."  
"What for?"  
"For making me feel safe."


End file.
